


Azure and Crimson

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Multi, Tumblr Prompts, jaime as a rock star, post-bear pit, war correspondents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-01-25 17:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: A collection of the prompts I've gotten on tumblr for Jaime x Brienne. I sometimes include other pairings (of my own choosing), sometimes it's just J/B.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 93
Kudos: 165





	1. Sapphire Blue Guitar - cover band/rock star AU (now a stand alone fic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapphire Blue Guitar - prompt by @bussdowntarthiana; inspired by Liz Phair, Kim Gordon, and the Fender sapphire blue electric guitar.

**Prompt**: Brienne is a guitarist in a tribute band that has a viral video. Jaime, the guitarist in the "real" band, sees the video and goes to one of their shows.

**Sapphire Blue Guitar**

“100,000!” she hears Sansa announce. 

Brienne is still half asleep, but slowly rises upon hearing her friend’s announcement. By the time her feet hit the floor and she staggers out to the living room, she sees her other roommates and bandmates, Asha and Ygritte, shuffling around the kitchen, looking like they are dealing with the same emotional hangover. (Ygritte might be suffering from an actual hangover. She was knocking back shots last night.) They all grab at the coffees Sansa has brought, made to everyone’s order, and demolish the box of donuts. 

“Did you save one for Margaery?” Sansa calls. Ygritte, Asha, and Brienne exchange wide-eyed, guilty looks, and burst into laughter. Asha puts back a chocolate one for Marg. 

“What’s the count at now?” Asha asks as they join Sansa in the living room, flopping down on couches, balancing coffee cups, and licking their fingers clean of powdered sugar or icing from the donuts. 

“105,000.” The three of them nod, trying not to get too excited. Brienne knows it’s the most hits they’ve ever had. Maybe they would finally start booking more gigs at places other than Qyburn’s Goat. 

The set last night was amazing. She wasn’t sure if it was the energy of the crowd or what, but the songs were tight. They stopped worrying about the mechanics and simply let go and had fun.

Perhaps too much fun, judging from the half naked man trying to sneak out of the house right now. Asha lets out a cheer, Sansa turns beet red, and Ygritte waves it off. “Aw, that’s just Jon.” She beckons him over and tips her head over the back of the couch to give him a kiss. 

“Ugh,” Sansa moans, hiding her face in a pillow. “That’s my brother.” 

“I’ll call you later,” he promises. “Great show, ladies.” He smiles at their group before heading out the door. 

“Great show, ladies,” Asha repeats in a mocking, derisive tone, until Ygritte nudges her in the shoulder.

“Do we want to have our decompression sesh now?” Brienne asks, stifling a yawn. She’s half wondering if the number of hits on their video has anything to do with their song choice.

“Margaery’s not even awake yet. Can’t start a band meeting without our lead singer.” 

The four of them met in college due to their love of the rock band, The Kingslayers. One night at karaoke, when they found out Margaery could actually sing, they decided to form their own group. “A kind of gender reversal thing” as Asha had coined it, The Queenslayers. They started out messing around by playing a couple songs at a student talent show, but the response was so great, they kept it up, and started doing more and more covers of their favorite Kingslayers songs. By graduation, they were a full blown tribute band with regular gigs. 

They all had other jobs, but the whole thing, which started out as a college joke, felt like it was snowballing into something serious these last few months. The Kingslayers, who had stopped recording and touring years before, announced they were doing a new album and accompanying comeback tour. Due to The Kingslayers’ return, more people seemed to have gotten wind of their little band, and more and more people were showing up to their sets. 

Sansa was social media obsessed and had been friends with Brienne for years, so it made sense to bring her into the fold, and she had nearly doubled their hits in the past few months.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, looking at her phone now. “We’re at 250,000. That’s…impossible. When did I check last?” 

Asha’s eyes widened. “Not that long ago! Before Jon strolled through.” 

Chaos erupts in their living room. “Don’t remind me!” Sansa declares, as Ygritte is grabbing for her phone, and nearly knocks over Asha’s coffee before Brienne swoops it up, saving their living room floor from another disaster. 

She glaces up to see Margaery smiling as she comes in, looking perfectly put together as always in an emerald green silk robe, a hint of lacy lingerie peeking out as the robe falls off one shoulder. “What’s going on?” she asks innocently.

“One of our songs from last night has a bunch of hits. Show her, Sansa,” Asha prompts. She hands her phone to Margaery, her fingers trembling a little. Sansa’s cheeks flush before she turns to look at Brienne, who gives her friend a reassuring smile.

“Well, that is exciting.” 

*

“Tyrion.” He shook his brother awake from where he was passed out on Jaime’s living room couch after a particularly fierce night out. 

“Wha-gog?”

Jaime shoves his phone into his brother’s hand. “Just watch this. Addam sent it to me.” He crosses into the kitchen in his giant loft apartment. As he makes coffee, he can hear the tinny strains of the song through the phone’s speakers and hums along under his breath. It finally gets to the part Jaime has been waiting for, the guitar solo. He watched it about five times this morning. The shock of blonde hair falling in her face, the way her fingers fly faster and better than his own. His guitar skills haven’t been the same since the accident. 

“Damn,” Tyrion grunts when Jaime returns and sets a steaming mug in front of him. “They’re good.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “She is. The guitarist. Their singer could be better and their drummer is shit, but she…” he taps his fingers on the phone over the woman paused mid-solo. “…she’s the key to all of it.”

“Maybe I should hire her for the tour, then,” Tyrion snarks. Squinting, his brother watches the video again. “Gods, they’re young,” he breathes. 

“They’re not. We’re just old. Old and washed up,” Jaime tosses over his shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen to make them breakfast. 

“Speak for yourself!”

*

The past few days have been insane. The video reached two million views (and counting), the local news contacted them for an interview on their morning show, other media outlets have been bugging them for comment, and they still have their regular gig at Qyburn’s on Saturday. Sansa spends most of the week freaking out about whether or not they could be sued by The Kingslayers’ legal team, but the day before their show, she receives a very brief, but nice email from Tyrion Lannister, the band’s manager (and brother to their lead guitarist.) “Saw this. Rock on, girls!” 

“Girls,” Asha sneers. 

“It’s nice,” Brienne replies. “Like he’s giving us his blessing.” She feels a bit uncertain about all the attention and prefers to concentrate on their upcoming show. Their house seems to have fallen into constant bickering about what their future might hold, so Brienne holes up in her room, fooling around with half-written songs. It’s her father’s old guitar, not the sleek blue electric Fender she uses at gigs, the one which matches her eyes. It’s taken her a number of years, but she’s written a few songs, and she only hopes that one day she’ll get to play them. 

*

Qyburn’s is packed. No, packed doesn’t even cover it. It’s teeming. They arrive a few hours early to have time for a sound check and there’s already a line around the block. “Holy shit,” Asha intones.

Nerves begin to prick at Brienne’s stomach. Sansa steers the car as close to the door as possible. Margaery is following behind in a separate car with Ygritte’s drum set. 

After their sound check, she bums around in her old Kingslayers’ t-shirt and jeans for a bit until they all start getting ready. Brienne doesn’t usually put much thought into what she is going to wear for shows, but tonight she put together what feels like an appropriate outfit. She changes into a well-worn striped black and white t-shirt, ripped black tights, and a pair of men’s maroon shorts over the tights. She prefers jeans, but they get hot during shows, and Margaery is always telling Brienne her best feature is her legs. 

During sound check, she noticed her hands were twitchy, almost little muscle tremors. But now they are full on shaking. She has them tucked under her thighs as Margaery does a smoky eye on her. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she breathes.

“Don’t tell the others,” Margaery says very quietly. “But you’re the best out of all of us, Bri. So you can. I’ve seen how strong you are.” With all the bickering lately, it’s easy to forget how long they’ve all known each other and how well each of them know her. It’s comforting. 

Brienne nods, glancing at herself in the mirror. The eye makeup is a lot, but she loves it. “Thank you,” she says, giving Margaery a tight squeeze. “You’re amazing.” 

*

All week, Jaime tries to convince himself not to go, but curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself ushered into Qyburn’s via the kitchen. He’s wearing a red and yellow plaid shirt and a black baseball cap pulled down over his hair. 

There’s a giant roar from the crowd as Queenslayers take the stage and he laughs, knowing what it’s like to be on the other end of that. His heart clenches when he sees her, blonde hair swept out of her eyes for now, a beaming blush coloring her cheeks as she looks out at the crowd and gives a little wave. She grips her blue electric guitar. Beautiful hands, he thinks. Long, nimble fingers. 

It takes her a couple songs to get into it, but if she’s nervous, he can’t tell. By the third song, she and the bass guitarist are bopping around the stage and his eyes can’t help but travel the length of her legs, can see the lines of muscle in her calves. He feels dirty for even noticing and swallows the rest of his beer.

It’s an odd feeling, listening to songs he wrote years ago, but there’s a pride there, too. They sound better in person than the video. The singer is evocative and flirty, even more so than Addam, which he didn’t think was possible. When they get to the song he’s been waiting to hear, as soon as she starts to play the guitar solo, electricity races up his spine. His heart is pounding in time to the music and he licks his lips, watching her with anticipation. _Come on_, he thinks. _You got this_. It’s strange, but he wants her to do well. He hasn’t even met her, but somehow feels he knows her. When she finishes, he gives a shout from the back. “Woohoo!” Others join in and the cheers travel up to the stage. She smiles, a blush rising in her cheeks again. She searches the back of the room, shielding her eyes with her hand for a moment, looking for someone. Looking for him. 

*

After their set, Brienne watches her bandmates. Ygritte finds Jon in the crowd, Asha and Theon are already headed towards the bar, and much to Brienne and Sansa’s surprise both, Margaery kisses Sansa as soon as she steps off stage. The two of them smiling at each other giddily before they find Renly and Loras in the crowd. Brienne tries to ignore the envy which washes over her. Everyone has someone. Except her. Her dad has always been supportive of her music–he had even called her when he saw the video–but he’s busy with his new family on Tarth and she cannot picture him hanging out in Qyburn’s to hear her play. 

Brienne makes her way to the back, getting stopped by a few people in the crowd who congratulate her on the video or tell her “great show” with bright smiles and a nod, but she’s relieved when she arrives at the bar and signals Hodor for her usual. “I’ve got it,” the man next to her gestures to the bartender. 

She’s surprised and surveys him out of the corner of her eye quickly before he turns towards her, flashing her a smile. The smile she would recognize anywhere. It’s dark and he’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, but there are green eyes peeking out underneath the rim. Ohmygods. It can’t be. 

“Jaime Lannister?” she asks, dumbfounded. Why would he bother? She remembers Sansa’s worries about the Kingslayers suing them and her stomach plummets. But why would they send him? They would send a team of lawyers instead. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to his lips, his other hand falling to her wrist to quiet her. 

“Oh my gods,” she replies, her tone muted. “It’s really you. What the fuck.” She covers her mouth with her hand, horrified she just cursed in front of her idol, but he laughs and some of the worry slips from her body. He has the most beautiful laugh. And he’s gorgeous. Not that she doubted he would be, but she can tell, even though his looks are tucked under a baseball cap and his body hidden by long sleeves. “I mean,” she tries again, knowing she’s beet red. “Thank you for coming?” 

“Is that a question?” he winks at her and thankfully their drinks arrive, because she’s pretty sure she’s died or melted into the floor or something. _It’s Jaime Lannister._ Standing here. Talking to her like they’ve known each other for years. 

“No, really, thank you. What the seven hells are you doing here?” 

He grins and gods, he’s so fucking easy on the eyes it hurts. She feels like an awkward giant next to him and probably looks absolutely ridiculous in this eye makeup when she’s not on stage, but then he’s speaking and her brain stops freaking out so she can listen. “I saw the video, like the rest of the world. You’re good.” 

“Thanks.” It’s such an automatic response, but she tries to let the simple praise infiltrate her many layers of defense. Tries to truly absorb that her favorite musician told her their band was good. “So has…did the whole band see it?” 

“Of course. Addam’s the one who sent it to me.” He takes a sip of his beer before he turns his whole body towards her, leans in so close she can feel the heat from his skin. She feels dizzy and turned on and confused all at once. “The band is good,” he murmurs in her ear. “But you, you’re truly talented. You know that, right?” He draws back to gage her reaction and finds himself arrested by her eyes. The blue so deep it nearly matches the color of her guitar, the same blue of his mother’s wedding ring made of sapphires and rubies. Her eyes are steady. A calm in a stormy sea. “The guitar solo,” he nods up at the stage. “You’re better than I am. My brother would kill me for saying that, but it’s the truth.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits. Brienne’s half convinced he’s lying, half wonders if he’s trying to get her to sleep with him or if he has some ulterior motive, but the way he’s smiling at her, the way his face softens whenever she talks, she doesn’t think so. He’s a millionaire. He doesn’t have to come to dank bars to see tribute bands play in order to get someone into bed with him. He seems genuine. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She’s nearly finished her beer and glances up to see if Hodor is nearby so she can order another. 

“Let’s go outside,” Jaime suggests. “It’s too hard to talk in here. I want to get to know you, Brienne Tarth.” Her skin prickles with the heat of his voice saying her name. She follows him outside, half laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” 

He holds the kitchen door open for her and there’s a cool breeze as they step outside. “I doubt that.”


	2. Away From Harrenhal - canon divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is canon AU. Prompt by @Roccolinde

**Prompt**: huddling for warmth

**Away From Harrenhal**

When they set off from Harrenhal (again), Brienne in the dress, wounds still bleeding, there’s an unfamiliar distance in her gaze. As immovable as she’s tried to be in the face of his taunts, her eyes always give her away. Usually by watching them, he can tell what she’s not saying. But not now. Jaime is tempted to ask her again, make sure Vargo Hoat did not try anything in his absence, but first they need to get away. 

He hates this place. The sky is continuously gray and pissing rain. They do not have much between them. Her things were left behind in haste. He steers them towards the Kingsroad now–it is the fastest route–and despite whatever dangers may lurk along it, no doubt they have faced worse. 

His eagerness to put distance between them and Harrenhal does not replace the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. All he has wanted these past weeks is to return to King’s Landing, to see his sister again, but now it feels like a death sentence for them both. His father and Cersei will dismiss him as they do Tyrion. They will scoff at his story, insult Brienne or worse, put her behind bars for her part in his maiming.

Jaime thinks of cutting through the God’s Eye, joining up with the Goldroad, and riding home to the Westerlands. He would not be rid of his family there, though. Maybe they should charter a boat from Duskendale and sail east. He has never seen Tarth. Or Essos or any of the lands beyond Westeros.

He turns to tell her these ideas, anxious to tease and exchange barbs, but his eyes take her in, huddled forward on her horse. She is shivering. Whether it is from the cold or the rain or the shock of all that has transpired, he feels a pull in his chest. As soon as he’s able, he’s steering them off the road. Jaime hops down off his horse. Brienne doesn’t move. Come on, wench, he thinks. You’re stronger than this. 

“Brienne.” He is not sure if she responds because he says her name or because her horse nearly knocks her into a tree branch. Either way, she dismounts, and he ties up their horses out of sight of passers by. He pulls items out of their saddlebags and she follows him deeper into the woods, until he finds a particularly dense copse of trees. The rain lessens here. She needs to get dry and warm. She needs an inn, a fire, and a warm bed, but all she has is the cover of the trees and him. “You’re cold.” 

“I’m alright,” she insists, but the distant look in her eye remains. 

He unfolds one of the items he brought, an extra cloak, and slings it around her with his left hand. She pulls it even across her shoulders, wrapping her hands in its length. “We’ll stop somewhere tonight, find you suitable clothes.” His eyes are drawn to the gash along her shoulder and neck. “Does it hurt?”

“Stings a bit in the wind.” He wishes he had something for it. There is a longing to reach for her. He wants to care for her like she did for him. He wants to wash her wounds, his fingers ever so gentle along her pale flesh, and try to soothe the raised marks. But he can do none of it. It is not his place, and she would knock him aside in a heartbeat if he tried. “I should have never left you.” 

A slight surprise at his concern crosses her face. “You had no choice.” 

“I did. I could have commanded it.” 

“Jaime.” Her voice is as soft as the raindrops hitting the leaves of the tree they stand under. 

His hand is on her wrist. He expects her to fight him, to pull away, but she does neither, only meeting his gaze with her impossibly blue eyes. “You’re cold,” he says again. “We must get you warm, my lady.” 

“Brienne,” she huffs. 

“Careful or it’ll be wench.” He cannot resist teasing her, but her small smile grows solemn as he fits his body to hers. His left hand is at her elbow, drawing her closer, arranging the cloak around them the best he can. “Is this alright?” She nods and he can see her throat bob. “It may be best if you…” he trails off, gesturing to where she should put her arms. Brienne obeys, at first looping her arms around his neck, but it leaves her hands exposed, so she tucks them to her chest before stepping into Jaime and settling the cloak around their shoulders. His left arm circles her waist and his cheek rests against hers, as if they are merely dancing instead of freezing in the middle of the woods outside of Harrenhal. 

Not for the first time, he wishes he had both hands. Slowly, he begins to move his left up and down her back. Expecting her to object, he is surprised when she nestles closer, tucking her nose into his neck, and hums softly. “Jaime?” she asks a moment later, the heat of her breath flickering across his skin. “Why did you come back?”

“I told you, wench,” he breathes, but his heart is hammering in his chest. “I dreamed of you.”

She draws back, but only far enough so she can see his face. “What do you mean?” He thinks about telling her everything. Cersei, his father, how she appeared out of the darkness. 

“You swore an oath to keep me safe,” he says instead. “I wanted to keep the promise in return.” 

Brienne searches his eyes for a long moment and then presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, as if she is the queen of love and beauty and he is her knight in shining armor. He is no knight and she is no beauty, but the two of them make a perfect pair, somehow. 


	3. Carry Something Sweet - stuntman/woman AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: first kiss (mod au); otherwise known as the stuntman/stuntwoman AU

**Prompt**: JB First Kiss Modern - @renee561

**Carry Something Sweet**

Beeping. The incessant tone of his little brother’s alarm when Tyrion would get up early for chess club or AV club. Jaime was supposed to drive him, Tyrion grumbling about his lazy jock brother. The bright lights over the football field. The roar of the crowd as his pass connected, his teammate scored. Someone crying. His mother’s funeral. As a child, he would pick and deliver wildflowers to her. Whenever his father gave her flowers for a birthday or anniversary, she would tell Jaime she liked his better. At her funeral there were only white flowers. Stiff, formal arrangements, their sickeningly sweet fragrance permeating the house for weeks.

He opens his eyes. Blinking, groggy, cold. Squinting against the fluorescent overhead lighting, he notices a figure out of the corner of his eye. “Brienne.” He tries to say, but her name catches in the dryness of his throat, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. There is a heavy weight on his right arm. He cannot move it. His left hand then. It feels odd. A loose, unpracticed gesture, but she finally looks up. Teary-eyed, her skin blotchy from crying, but the relief which smoothes the creases in her forehead, the worry lines at the edge of her mouth disappearing, is an exhale, a weight lifted, a coming home. 

She stands, soothing him with her touch, her eyes searching his face as she explains in a shaky voice. “How much do you remember?” _I remember you_, he thinks, but only shakes his head because he remembers none of it. “We were filming the car chase. And it–you lost control–it spun out. It wasn’t your fault, Jaime. The car rolled.” 

His heart is pounding, the machines beeping faster now, as he searches for where she might be hurt, but she shakes her head. “I’m fine. But your arm.” She pulls back her hair and shows him the small cut on her forehead, held together by a small butterfly bandage. “Gods, I was so worried. We were lucky.” We. 

He tries to speak, but his voice is raspy and he chokes on his words, coughing. She moves her hand away and Jaime misses the warmth of her palm. Pouring him a glass of water, she holds the straw up to his lips and lets him drink. “Thank you,” he whispers, the words feel strange in his mouth. 

“What were you going to say?” she prompts, gently brushing his hair back from his face. Her eyes catch his and he forgets again. Stunningly blue. As bright and clear as if he’s lying on his back, staring at the sky on a crisp fall day. “I’ll let you rest.” She smiles at him and it’s a true one, not the well-meaning but simpering smile he has seen most of his life. Poor little rich boy, they seem to be thinking. But not her. Never Brienne. 

They keep him in the hospital an obscenely long time for a broken arm. Brienne comes every day and whenever she returns to the room after talking with the doctors, she seems unsettled and sad. She tries to keep him busy, distract himself from his injury. One day she brings a pile of books, the next an old iPod full of music she thinks he might like, and the day after that a handful of his favorite movies. He begs her to put on one right away, so she does, taking her seat beside him, scooting her chair close so she can rest her arm on the bed. He laces his (left) fingers through hers and she blushes and drops her eyes. _Oh, I love you_. 

They were–_are_–colleagues, but there’s always been a bit of sexual tension. He attributed it to his ability to flirt with a brick wall, but now he realizes that no, it was always her, even though he hadn’t realized it yet. He’s begun to think like that: pre-Jaime and post-Jaime, even though it’s just a broken arm. 

Until it isn’t. Until Tyrion comes bursting in one day. Brienne hasn’t come to visit yet and when Jaime asks when he’ll be able to go home, his brother only stares. “She hasn’t told you?” Jaime frowns. “Fuck’s sake. It’s not only a break. They’re afraid you won’t be able to use your hand properly anymore.” 

“What?” he half expects Tyrion’s face to crack a smile, one of his terrible jokes. 

“A nerve snapped or something. She really didn’t tell you?” 

Tyrion is gone by the time Brienne arrives and walks into his stony silence. There is yelling and hurt and Brienne breaking down because she knew he would take it badly. “You aren’t any different, Jaime. Not to me.” She tells him, tears in her eyes, and as much as he wants to yell again, she doesn’t give him the chance. Her hair whispers against his cheek, her fingers grip his chin as she presses her lips to his. He’s nearly too shocked to respond, but as she starts to pull away, he finally does. His left hand cradles her head, his fingers threading through her hair, pulling her back down. Brienne makes a soft sound at the back of her throat and opens her mouth to his. He wants to keep kissing her. Never wants to stop.

His right hand might not work the way it should, but when they finally part, his fingers are tingling. All ten of them. 

His stay lasts another couple days when he tells the doctors of the sensation in his fingers. They do physical therapy, tap his fingers, various attempts are made to try and get the tingle to return. But it’s only when Brienne is there does it happen. 

“See, I need you,” he murmurs to her, her hand gripping his left, her face flushing. 

When he is released from the hospital, she is there, and he is finally able to kiss her properly. His left hand cups her cheek, the length of his body pressing against hers, even in his cast, his right hand paws at her hip. She runs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and he feels it again. The sensation only she can evoke. “Did that work?” she murmurs against his mouth. 

“Not sure,” he says, cocking his head to the side as he looks at her. “Let’s try it some more.” She laughs, his lips nipping at her neck. 


	4. The Blue Knight - reincarnation AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tips his head back, still trying to catch his breath, closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, she is there. The blue armor reflecting the dim light, her blonde hair blowing in the wind, a scar on her cheek, a sword glinting in her hand. Brienne.

**Prompt:** Samsara - the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth in Buddhism. (Reincarnation)

Jaime travels to Storm’s End to continue his research. He’s beginning to expect, despite all of history’s objections, that the mysterious Blue Knight was a woman. 

The library at Storm’s End is not as grand or imposing as those in Lannisport or King’s Landing. The building looks as if it has fallen into disrepair. The entrance has floors of marble and a beautiful carved staircase which leads to an upper floor. As he walks across the entryway, there are frequent cracks in the tiles where they are splitting apart or crumbling away, and the dim lighting creates the illusion of a building trying to hide its faults. 

His stomach sinks, frustration rising in his throat. If the place is not cared for, the likelihood of them maintaining good records is unlikely. But he has come so far, searched so thoroughly. If any place has information on the Blue Knight, it will be the Stormlands, for she was a Stormlander. He knows that for certain. 

His footsteps echo through the empty reading room. Jaime is starting to wonder if this was all a mistake, if the library is in fact abandoned, when he finally sees movement ahead. Upon approach, he puts on his most charming smile. He’s learned that it is best to get in the librarian’s good graces early, otherwise she may not be as willing to help with his search. As he grows closer, a blonde woman looks up over her glasses at him. Her eyes are a stunning bright blue. She arches her blonde eyebrow at him. “May I help you?” 

A tightness in his chest. Struggles to swallow. He  _ knows _ her. Jaime has never seen her before, but he knows her. From some past, some other lifetime. The woman says something else and he tries to shake himself out of his reverie, but he cannot. Her eyes grow wide as his hand clutches his chest. He feels as if he is being crushed. A giant weight pressing on him. He can barely breathe, but when she stands, he notices how tall she is. Then she is coming around the desk, reaching for him, and her touch is fire. 

He tries to tell her, “I know you.” But there’s only a high pitch ringing in his ears. His hands and feet are tingling. He should be terrified, but she is there. Protecting him. She races to her desk and back, a phone in her hand, Jaime only able to watch her worried face nearly crumple as she places the call. He tips his head back, still trying to catch his breath, closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, she is there. The blue armor reflecting the dim light, her blonde hair blowing in the wind, a scar on her cheek, a sword glinting in her hand.  _ Brienne. _

The world goes black.

When he wakes there are bright lights and muted voices. Maybe he is being born again. Except when he finally opens his eyes, he sees  _ her _ . Maybe this is heaven. Perhaps he is dead. 

There is a dusting of freckles over her nose and across her cheeks. She’s removed her glasses, and her eyelashes are such a pale blond he expects she’s wearing no makeup, other than her wide lips painted red. She does not need it. Her pale skin glows, as if lit by moonlight. “You’re awake.” 

He swallows, his throat raw, but manages to ask. “Who are you?” 

“Brienne.” Somehow he already knew the answer. 

“You’re  _ her _ .” 

She frowns. “Who?”

“The Blue Knight.”

“The Blue Knight was a man.” Her reply is firm.

“No,” he shakes his head. 

“You should rest,” she tells him, her forehead creased with concern. 

*

As soon as she saw him, she knew. 

It was always the same. He was always the one to find her. She was the one who remembered. Was born knowing she would meet him again in a new life. It had happened countless times before. On and on through the annals of time. Destined to find each other. 

It used to frustrate her, being the one who knew, who always had to delicately explain. He would often balk, she would be hurt. But she began to revel in it, to enjoy watching his slow realization, to know there was nothing he could do or say to sway their connection. Sometimes she played into it, aggravating him, just as he had done to her during their journey through the Riverlands. 

But this time was different. This time he knew about the Blue Knight. 

When he’s released from the hospital, she takes him home. Jaime sits on her couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Is it usual for you to bring strange men home?” 

“What’s it to you if I do?” she replies, trying to hide her smirk. 

His face falls. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” But then he glances up, his face breaking into a beautiful grin when he notes her smile. There he is.  _ Jaime _ . “You’re teasing.” 

“Do you want more tea?” she asks. He nods, handing her his mug. She goes into the kitchen to grab the kettle, wondering how to tell him this time. The doctors concluded that he had suffered from a panic attack. From the way he was clutching his chest, Brienne thought it was his heart.  _ Don’t you leave me already _ , she begged as her shaking hands dialed, calling for an ambulance.

When she returns, both of their mugs steaming, she asks, “Do you feel well enough to tell me about the Blue Knight?” 

His face lights up at the idea. She listens as he carefully explains his research, laying out his reasoning for why he thinks the Blue Knight may not be a man, as everyone suspects, but instead a woman. 

“Why did you become interested in him? Or her?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. It’s something I’ve been interested in since I was a little boy. Drawn to it, really.” He looks up at her, his eyes familiar and strange all at once.

“I think we should go to Tarth.” Brienne sets her mug down.

Confusion clouds his face. “Because you’re in the mood for a beach holiday?” 

“Because your research is correct except for one thing. Brienne the Blue was not from Storm’s Landing. She was from Tarth.” 

“Wait.” Jaime practically jumps up from his seat. “You  _ knew _ . You knew she was a woman.” His eyes are wide and she cannot say anymore lest she send him into another panic attack.

“I know a lot of things,” she replies, trying for a flirtatious tone yet it comes out more mysterious than intended. “And you’ll find them out in time.” 

*

On the ferry to Tarth, Brienne falls asleep, her head propped against the window. He tries not to think about what it would be like to slip an arm around her thick waist, to rest his chin on her shoulder, to have her long, slender fingers rake through his hair. 

And yet, it’s all he can think about. When he closes his eyes, he can see them. She wears her hair short, the scar on her cheek is present again, as are marks along her collarbone, like she was struck by a wild animal. He holds her close, his tone light as he teases her, saying she is his only protection against the cold of the north. Her fingers reach back, brushing through his beard, as he presses kisses along her neck and shoulder. “Jaime?” 

“Mmm?” he murmurs into her skin, his fingertips tracing the freckles which dust the tops of her shoulders and spill down her arms. 

“You will stay, won’t you?” The uncertainty in her tone makes Jaime’s heart feels as if it’s being crushed. 

He stills his movements and props himself up on his right elbow, studying the outline of her face. The doubt he heard in her voice does not show on her features, her jaw is as firm as always, but she doesn’t look at him. Instead, her gaze remains fixed on the fire in the hearth. “Brienne,” he says softly, waiting for her to slowly turn her head and look at him. When she does not, he continues. “When I chose to come here, I understood what that meant. That I would not be able to go back. I would not alter my decision. This is my home now.” 

“Casterly Rock still stands, does it not?” In the North, the chill never really leaves his bones, but the ice in her voice makes him shiver. 

“Yes,” he sighs. “But it is not my home. They are not my family.” 

“Of course they are.” From the irritation in her tone, it’s a conversation they’ve had before. “Your brother…” 

“My brother is safe with the Dragon Queen. And I am safe here with you.” He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss to her scarred cheek. 

Brienne finally stirs then, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “Are you certain?” 

“I am.” He nods, unblinking, his green eyes firmly rooted to her blue. “That is, if you will allow me to stay, Lady Brienne,” he continues, the teasing creeping into his tone again. 

This time, she smiles and reaches up to tug at his tunic, drawing him closer, murmuring, “yes.” Tilting her chin up, she captures his lips with hers.

*

As they dock at Tarth, Brienne blinks awake, only to find Jaime also rousing from a nap. An embarrassed look crosses his face when their eyes meet and doubt seizes her, as if someone had reached out and snagged her by the collar. There is no reason for him to believe her. As time has passed, their various iterations playing out, she finds it more difficult to explain their connection. Some larger force may push them together, but in these modern times, there are not the same circumstances in place--societal rules, family obligation, duty--which tie their fates together. 

He follows her around all day, as the two of them study the ruins of Evenfall, asking the right questions, listening as she tells him of Tarth’s history. They are settling along the cliffs to eat lunch, her gaze focused on the sea crashing into the rocks below. “How do you know so much about this place?”

She chews her sandwich slowly, puzzling out an answer. “My family is from here.” 

Jaime has just taken a bite of his sandwich, but his mouth falls open before he remembers his manners, closing his mouth to chew and swallow. “Are you a…” he glances around, as if someone might overhear. “A  _ Tarth _ ?”

She puts her sandwich down on the wax paper wrapper. Brienne draws her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them. “Jaime, I know we just met-” 

“We were together before, weren’t we?”

Now her mouth is the one to fall open. “How did you know that?”

“I saw it. Or dreamt it.” He squints into the sun, looking at her. “It was a different time.”

“Yes,” she nods. “Could you see where we were?” 

“A room. There was a fire. And furs on the bed.” 

“Winterfell,” the word whispers from her lips. 

“Winterfell.” His tone is reverent, as if he is remembering. They are both quiet for a long time, the rhythm of waves crashing against the rocks the only sound. Finally, Jaime asks, “Was she the Blue Knight?”

“Yes,” she nods. “And no. She was a knight and she did brave things during her time. Fought in battles, commanded during war. But no called her the Blue Knight. Not back then.” 

“And we were…?” he gestures between them and she glimpses a look of awe on his face. 

“Yes.” She takes a breath, knowing she has to tell him now. “But not just in Winterfell. In every universe. We are drawn to each other.” This should not be so painful for her, not after all this time, but it always is. There are tears in her eyes, so she blinks, looks away. 

“Magnets.” When she glances back at him, he looks a little shell shocked, but he’s nodding, as if he understands. And maybe he does. After all, he saw them. That’s never happened before. 

“When you saw me at the library, what happened?” 

“It felt as if I knew you, but I didn’t know why. I couldn’t breath, as if something heavy was sitting on my chest.” Gently, he places a hand over his heart. “Well, you know. Panic attack.”

“But you’re remembering things?”

His eyes widen. “Yes. I saw you. I mean, her. Standing over me.” 

“That’s never happened before. You never remember.”  _ I’m the one who remembers. _

“What happened? In Winterfell?” His face is so earnest, but a bitterness washes over her. She reaches for the sandwich, wrapping the paper carefully around it and placing it in her bag. 

“It’s getting late. We should take the ferry back.” She stands, shouldering her tote bag. 

“Brienne.” It’s the first time he’s said her name. Her knees go weak, her pulse quickens. He is not even close, but it’s as if he’s touching her, she can feel the heat from his hands all over her skin. 

She shakes her head, turns on her heel, and walks away. Then there is a hand on her arm, Jaime turning her towards him, and the soft way he’s looking at her hits her deep in the chest. Unable to draw herself back from the brink, tears spring to the corners of her eyes. 

His hand squeezes her arm gently. “Tell me what happened.” 

“You couldn’t stay. You never stay.” He steps towards her, tentatively wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. She allows herself a release then, her body shaking with sobs, allowing herself to feel his loss, to mourn him. 

He leaves to sacrifice himself for the greater good, to protect her. She never doubts his love for her. He gives his life away so she can carry on, so she might be happy, but it tears her apart every time. A wound which never heals.

She has held their secret, their history for so long. And yet she still believes him, in every universe, when he promises to stay. 


	5. take my hand - New Year's Eve/high school AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister invited her to his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

**Prompt by lewispanda**: Do you know that feeling most people have that they need to kiss a certain person /right the f now/? I need the same but with hand holding - no matter the verse.

**take my hand (and show me where we're going)**

Brienne smooths the dress over her thighs. The hemline fell a little higher than she remembers from her shopping trip with Sansa. She bites her lip, unsure. The deep blue _ does _bring out her eyes. 

There’s a soft knock on her door and she panics, wanting to slip back into her jeans and comfy sweater, even though it’s only her dad. She opens the door a crack. “Yes?” 

“We should head out soon if we’re going to make it on--” Her dad’s eyes widen. “Are you wearing a dress?” 

Brienne sighs, fearing that would be everyone’s reaction. She flings open the door. “Is it too much for the party?” 

“You look beautiful.” Her dad’s voice wavers and she nearly rolls her eyes at the emotion in his tone. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He steps forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving her alone. 

She pulls on a pair of matte black tights under her dress. Sansa would have a fit if she knew her friend was mixing navy and black, but Brienne draws a line at freezing to death for fashion’s sake. 

Jaime Lannister invited her to his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party. 

They didn’t even go to the same school, but Brienne knew the invitation was a big deal, even before her best friend, Sansa shrieked about it. 

Brienne met Jaime when she started taking fencing lessons a few years before. Due to their similar heights, they got paired together often. Everything he did or said seemed to be a joke. She hated him. He never took anything seriously, but he was a fierce fighter. 

At their first competition, Jaime was in earshot when an opponent taunted Brienne. “You’re a large target, sweetheart. Maybe you should try a different sport. Like rugby.” 

Jaime charged and almost broke the guy’s nose. Since then, they’d developed a grudging respect and an unlikely friendship. But recently, with all the time they spent together, she’d begun to think of him differently. 

At their latest match, they sat in the stands next to each other, close enough so whenever Jaime moved, his arm brushed against hers. Even through the fabric of her jacket, she could feel the goosebumps pop up along her skin. They were supposed to be watching their competition, but mostly, Brienne watched Jaime out of the corner of her eye, their shoulders pressing together when he pointed out an opponent’s trick or skill. 

She was not so much a fool to think Jaime would ever be interested in her. He was beautiful. Long haired and lanky, with an easy smile. No doubt he had a line of girls waiting for him back at Lannisport Academy. 

Called for her first match, she shook off her thoughts as she warmed up. Except his was the voice she could pick out of the crowd, cheering her on as she stepped onto the piste. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before she began. 

She won her first bout, but lost her second. Frustrated, she slipped off her helmet, only to find Jaime waiting for a hug. “You did well.” 

“I should have had the second one,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Despite the thickness of their outfits, she reveled in the brief moment in his arms. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Jaime gave her a smile as he shook his limbs out, preparing for his bout. 

*

This is not her. She wants to tell her dad to turn around and take her back home. If Jaime likes her all dressed up, then he’ll only be disappointed by the real her, the one who prefers to wear hoodies and flannel pajama pants and throw her hair up into a ponytail. 

She didn’t even ask who else might be attending, she’d been so happy about the invitation. Letting out a shaky breath, she turns to her dad. “When we get there, you should come in for a minute.” 

He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I wasn’t invited.” 

“But you know them. The Lannisters.”

“You’ll have fun. You don’t need me there.” _ Fun _. It isn’t the right word for any of what she’s feeling. Why was she ever excited? She keeps having visions of Jaime abandoning her by the food table to sneak off with some smaller, prettier girl. Margaery Tyrell, perhaps. 

As the car pulls up to the Lannister house, Brienne marvels at how much bigger it looks at night, looming over the other houses on the street. Only now it is decked out in white lights and tasteful decorations. There are people trickling up the curved driveway, a stately door wrapped in a large crimson bow. 

Brienne hesitates. “I’m glad you’re going,” her dad replies, ever supportive. “I hope you have a nice time. But know you can always call me. Text when you need a ride home.” 

“Oh, Jaime has his learner’s permit. I’m sure he can-” She stops, seeing the look on her father’s face. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll call you.” 

Brienne steps up to the house, her boots crunching along the driveway. At least she had not abandoned one wardrobe staple, her black combat boots. 

She rings the doorbell but there is loud music emanating from inside. The door pushes open easily and Brienne quickly sees why, an eight piece band is set up in the entryway. The hall must have twenty foot ceilings, because her gaze keeps traveling up, up. There are guests leaning over the balcony, chatting, drinking, and swaying to the music. She has no idea how she will find Jaime in all of this. 

Looking around, Brienne hopes to find a buffet or somewhere else she can seek refuge. A woman in a crimson dress hurries over to her, smiling as she approaches. She has Jaime’s smile. “You must be Brienne. I’m Jaime’s mom, Joanna.” 

The woman has kind eyes but a formal demeanor, so Brienne responds as politely as she can. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lannister.” She’s so flustered, she nearly curtsies. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“It wasn’t me. Jaime’s always been allowed to invite a few friends. He told me to be on the look out for you. He’s upstairs in the game room. It’s on the third floor. Second door to your right. You can’t miss it.” The woman gives her directions with such ease, but Brienne’s heart sinks. Of course she was not the only one Jaime invited. She expects she will find the game room full of preening girls who will no doubt make fun of her dress and boots. 

A tree decorated with gold and crimson lights is placed on the third floor landing. To the right, at the end of the hallway is a room under the eaves of the house. “Jaime?” 

The room is a teenage boy’s paradise. Various sports memorabilia line on the walls, a poole table is placed in the middle of the room, and one wall is flanked by a large flatscreen TV, hooked up to a gaming console. The image on the flatscreen pauses and Jaime lifts off a headset. “Brienne! You’re here!” He practically leaps over the back of the couch, catching her up in a brief hug. Her stomach flips at his reaction. She’s also relieved to find Jaime alone. 

When he steps back, he pauses. Brienne’s face flushes, mentally begging him not to say anything. She turns towards the television, pretending to be fascinated by whatever video game he’s playing. It doesn’t prevent her from seeing how Jaime’s gaze travels up her body. 

She steps around the couch, trying to act natural, and flops down onto the soft leather. “What are you playing?” 

“Oh, shoot. Hold on a sec.” Jaime vaults over the couch again, grabbing up the headset. “Hey, Addam? Yeah, sorry. I need to go. Catch you later.” He presses something on the controller and the game disappears, returning the TV to a black screen. 

“Addam isn’t coming?” Brienne asks, surprised. 

“Nope, not this year. He’s on vacation with his family.” He nudges her leg with his own. Brienne finally gathers up the nerve to look at him. His green eyes stand out against the dark crimson of his button up shirt, a black tie draped loosely around the shirt’s collar as if he started playing before he was fully dressed. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” 

Her skin prickles with heat. She changes the subject, hoping Jaime won’t notice the color in her cheeks. “I met your mom.” 

“Oh, yeah? How was that? The Spanish Inquisition?”

“No,” she tilts her head, thinking. “She seemed nice.” 

Jaime sighs. “I guess we should go down for a minute. At least we can get some food. Then I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart.” He stands, fiddling with his shirt and tie.

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? I’d like to see that.” 

“Well,” Jaime fumbles for an insult, his train of thought distracted by trying to tie his tie. “I hate this stupid thing,” he groans. 

Brienne stands. “Come here,” she says gently. His eyes widen, surprised, but he steps towards her. She can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. Reminding herself to breathe, she adjusts the tie so the skinny end is on top, then wraps the bigger side around twice, before flipping it up. “Hold this,” she tells him. Jaime takes the bigger end in his fingers as Brienne adjusts the skinny end, distracted by the way his breath hitches when her fingertips graze his neck. She takes the end from him and threads it through the loop at the front. “Ta da.” 

Jaime moves towards a mirror behind the door, adjusting the tie. “Where did you learn to do that?” He looks impressed. 

“My dad,” she shrugs. “He’s very big into knots. Nautical knots. Tie knots.” 

His eyes wrinkle up at the corners as he lets out a laugh. “Come on,” he gestures. “Food, then I’m kicking your ass.” 

“Right,” she nods, following him into the hallway. 

“Brienne?” 

“Hmm?” she asks, only half paying attention. 

“You look really nice.” She freezes, glancing up at him. His eyes are steady and warm. 

Her heart is beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. “Um, thanks,” Brienne murmurs. “You do too.” 

“This old thing?” he affects a high pitched voice, making her laugh. As they start down the stairs, Jaime reaches for her hand. 

His palm is warm against hers before she jerks away. Her movement causes her to stumble slightly down the stairs, landing on the one below him. “What are you doing?” 

A hurt look passes over his face. The gold lights on the tree are reflected in his eyes as he studies her. “What do you mean?” 

“_ Jaime.” _She crosses her arms over her chest. He had not been this impossible since the bickering days of their fencing lessons. 

“Brienne,” he pleads, but her thoughts are hurtling forward and she can’t understand his meaning. “I was taking your hand because, well, isn’t that what you do when you have a crush on someone and you want them to know your feelings?” 

“What?” Certain she must be dreaming. Her arms loosen ever so slightly. 

Jaime smiles, a gentle chuckle at the back of his throat. “I like you,” he repeats. “So, will you please…” He holds out his hand.

Brienne almost rolls her eyes, wants to push him, anything to break the tension. Instead, she uncrosses her arms, allowing her hand to slip into his. Jaime bends into a playful bow and her other hand clenches into a fist, mock hitting him in the stomach. “Ow!” he yelps as if she really punched him. 

Brienne holds his hand delicately, as if it might break, but Jaime threads his fingers through hers. His skin is surprisingly soft and the hairs on his arm tickle her wrist. She leans into him as they reach the second floor landing, a grin breaking across his face. “I wanted to do that for a long time,” he confesses, voice low. “Every time we sat on the bus together, coming back from a match. Wondered what you would say if I reached over and took your hand. Figured you might shove me.” 

“I might have,” she admits, unable to keep the smile off her face. “But I think I could get used to it.” Brienne squeezes his hand. 


	6. Oct. 7 - Friends to Lovers and Characters Who Work Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For date tag writing meme from tumblr - Oct. 7, Friends to lovers with characters who work together

From the date tag writing meme on tumblr -- @tolkienis4ever prompted: **October 7 - Friends to lovers with characters who work together **

*****

Whenever Jaime is mentioned, Galladon teases Brienne about her “work husband”. 

“Last Sevenmas he sent you that really nice floral arrangement and you _know_ he paid extra to have it delivered to Tarth. That’s not a typical coworker,” Gal reminds her after saying she’s in a rush to meet Jaime for a drink. 

“I’m aware. It was very thoughtful,” she replies, distracted. Brienne was held up at the office going over a contract with Tyrion Lannister, Jaime’s brother, who tends to be very fastidious about the details. “I’m here, so I’ll text you on my way home. Okay?” 

“Sure thing. Love you.” She hangs up as she enters the wine bar, easily spotting Jaime, who is flirting with the woman behind the bar while nursing a glass of red. Whenever they go out for a drink or meal, Brienne always lets him pick the place because he has quite the history when it comes to bartenders and hostesses (and that’s all she needs to know about Jaime’s love life.) 

He turns his dazzling smile to her as she sits on the stool next to him. “You made it,” he chuckles. 

“No thanks to you.” She glowers at him and he slides his glass to her. 

“Taste this.” The words are a husky whisper on his lips and they send an unexpected tingle of heat down her spine. 

Brienne takes a very small sip, letting the flavors settle in her mouth before swallowing. Much like his wit, Jaime enjoys a very dry wine. “It’s nice. Zesty. Is that a good word to describe it?” 

“If that’s what speaks to you, then yes. Do you want a glass?” Normally she might let Jaime order for her as he’s more a connoisseur, but tonight she’s tense and wants to sink into something familiar. 

“Will you judge me if I order a white?” 

“Only a little.” Jaime winks at her as he takes a sip. “So how was my beloved brother?” 

“I would appreciate his attention to detail if it wasn’t my very last meeting of the day. Why don’t you just handle his contracts?” she whines. “He wouldn’t even have to come into the office.”

Usually he looks bemused when she complains about Tyrion, teases her about his quirks, but tonight, his face is pinched. “What if I told you those contracts aren’t for him?” 

Brienne frowns. “What do you mean? It says Lannister Co. on the paperwork. Well, now it says Leonine. He changed the name today. Who else would it be for?” 

Jaime takes a long sip of wine. “For me,” he exhales. 

She almost chokes. “What?” 

There’s a wariness in his green eyes and his words are careful. “I’m planning on leaving to start my own venture, and I wanted to get the opinion of someone I trust.” He touches her knee, sending a current of warmth up her thigh. 

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” He shrugs and while Brienne is shocked about him dropping this on her _now_, Jaime has always held things close to the vest. “I think I need another glass,” she declares, draining her first. 

On her second glass, he tells her all of his carefully laid plans. He’s already negotiating with a Dornish company for the first big contract. “I’ll miss you.” The words are out of Brienne’s mouth before she can think. But it’s true. She and Jaime may not have started out on the best terms at work, but they’d grown close over the years, and now he was one of her best friends. The office would be a lot less interesting without him around. 

“I’ll miss you, too.” There’s no mockery in his voice and Brienne’s gaze flicks up to his, surprised at the sincerity in his green eyes, at the _longing_. He touches her knee again, ever so delicately, before taking her hand in his and pulling it into his lap. 

“Wh-what are you _doing_?” She asks, her voice a sharp gasp, her face burning with blush. If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. 

“Doing what I should have done a long time ago,” he whispers, before leaning in and kissing her. Her body responds as if it’s something that has happened a million times before, parting her lips, and kissing him in return. Brienne’s hand lets go of her wine glass to fist in the front of his button up shirt. When he finally pulls away, her mind needs several minutes to catch up with her body, and Jaime laughs lightly at the expression on her face even as his thumb strokes across her knuckles. “You really had no idea, you oblivious woman?” 

She shakes her head, still stunned, and he lifts their hands, placing a soft kiss on the back of hers. “_Jaime_,” she whispers. 

“I adore you. I have for a long time.” Brienne can’t comprehend how he is looking at her: a mixture of awe and desire. 

She’ll have to tell Galladon he was right all along. 


	7. Feb. 22 - Fluff with Meet Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For date tag writing meme on tumblr, Feb. 22 - Fluff with Meet Cute

Feb. 22 - Fluff with Meet Cute

Brienne has spent a large part of her life trying not to call attention to herself. So when Margaery and Sansa invite her to their kickboxing class, she hesitates, but then figures she’ll be able to stand near the back and it won’t be a big deal. The class sounds interesting and she wants to be a supportive friend.

It’s only when Margaery pulls up beside the park that Brienne begins to panic a little. “Wait. I thought this was at the gym.”

“No, it’s at the park!” Sansa replies happily. “Isn’t that great? You get fresh air and learn how to kick some butt.” She’s already hopping out of the backseat, but Margaery turns to Brienne, silently asking if it’s okay.

Brienne nods and she smiles. “You’re gonna be great, Bri.”

As they approach there are mats set up for the class and reassuringly, she notes that not everyone looks like they’re models for athleisure wear. Sansa is already standing at the front of the mats, talking to another redheaded young woman.

“That's Ygritte,” Margaery offers. “I think you would like her a lot. She's very athletic, like you, I think she used to do archery at uni.” 

“Oh, wow,” Brienne replies, suitably impressed. 

As the class starts, Ygritte is a very fun and engaging instructor, but Brienne finds her focus divided. She keeps surveying the other people around, using the park's walking paths or relaxing in its green spaces. Most don't seem to give a class in the park a second glance, but a trio of guys on roller blades yell at the group as they speed past. To her credit, Ygritte rolls her eyes and declares, “And that's why we're all here!” The group of women laugh in solidarity and agreement. 

Once they start to string together a sequence of moves, Brienne has less brain space to learn the routine and keep her eyes on those around them. They cycle through the sequence until her arms are burning. As they're learning a new series of moves, a guy on a maroon bike with bright blond hair sails by on the path parallel to where Brienne is standing. He's not more than six feet away when he does a double take and she catches a flash of his mocking smile in the split second before he passes. 

But then he comes back almost immediately, his body half turning as he rides past, clearly looking at her. She nearly charges after him, but isn't going to let one asshole ruin her morning. Brienne squeezes her eyes shut. _Breathe. Concentrate. _

There's a crash. Her eyes fly open. Up ahead, the blond man has ridden headlong into a tree. “Oh my Gods!” There are cries of surprise from the other women, but she's already running over to him. He's curled into a ball on the ground, but moving slightly, which is a good sign. “Are you okay?” 

The man lets out a grunt. “Yeah,” his voice is choked. “I'm okay.” He rolls over onto his back, limbs sprawling out on the ground, his hand hitting her foot. 

“You should really wear a helmet.” Brienne frowns down at him. 

He smiles, and she realizes the grin he flashed her earlier was probably a genuine one, and it's much cuter up close. “And you should really wear a warning sign for those legs of yours.” 

She colors, trying desperately not to reward his terrible pick-up line with a smile, but a smirk pulls at her cheeks. “I think you may have a concussion.” 


	8. March 22 - Smut with Meet Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date tag writing meme on tumblr, March 22 - Smut with Meet Cute

**March 22 - Smut with Meet Cute** (not sure how meet cute this is) for winterkill

*

“I don’t normally do this,” Jaime breathes against her skin as they push through the door of his hotel room. 

“I _never_ do this.” Brienne declares, her voice dropping to a low hum as he kisses her neck. 

Margaery couldn’t simply get married, she wanted to have a days long celebration with elaborate costumes, dinners, and dancing. Tonight’s theme was Dark versus Light and Marg was the one who encouraged Brienne to wear a dark blue gown with a long slit up the side. She was supposed to represent a Dark goddess, but with her freckles and pale skin, looked as innocent as always. But having Jaime Lannister’s attention was enough to make her feel not herself. From the moment she appeared at dinner, she noticed him watching her, and when the person sitting next to her rose to talk to someone else, Jaime appeared by her side. 

It was the first time he looked twice at her and they’d been at this ridiculous resort for two days. She didn’t mind, for it was flattering attention to have. His tight white button-up allowed her to see the outline of nearly every muscle. Brienne caught herself studying his jawline the rest of the night, trying not to flush every time he caught her staring, his bright green eyes flashing with amusement. Her mouth watered, but not for the food. He didn’t have to try very hard to appear as Light for he was a golden god all on his own. 

They’d had countless glasses of wine at dinner and by the time Margaery announced there would be dancing down the hall, Jaime had slipped his hand under the table, tracing up Brienne’s leg. “We should go,” she says gently, but he drops his head, his beard brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder, making her gasp. 

“If we join the dancing, I have to warn you I’m a rather jealous dance partner.” He teases out each word, his voice gravelly. “I don’t like to share.” Jaime captures her lips with his and Brienne curls an arm around his shoulder, tugging him closer. 

His hands are like fire as they skim over the silk of her dress, exploring all the lines of her body. “We should go upstairs,” she whispers and while Jaime looks surprised at the suggestion, he doesn’t object, rising and reaching for her hand. 

In the elevator, he pulls her flush against him, his hands falling to her ass. “Fuck, Brienne,” he murmurs against her mouth. “I saw you the other day at the pool in your little demure swimsuit, but your legs. Gods.” When the elevator door opens, they can barely untangle from each other long enough to make it down the hall. 

His room is huge, a suite, but Brienne doesn’t see much of it before he is dropping to his knees in the entryway. “Jaime,” she whispers as his fingertips trace up her leg. He pushes the fabric of aside, fingers curling at the back of her knee, and looks up at her. 

“Are you sure?” His eyes are darkened with lust and her body is pulsing with anticipation. 

“Gods, yes.” Jaime’s head disappears under her dress, his mouth against her thigh, his fingers tugging down her matching lace panties with a strained _fuck_, hands shaking as he guides them over her ankles and navigates her heels. His warm palm on her ankle as his lips, teeth, and tongue mark a path up her legs. When his mouth finally meets her cunt, she cries out, head dropping back against the wall. 

She gathers the silk in one hand, sweeping it away from Jaime so she can see him, her other hand threading through his hair. Brienne’s furious at how effective he is, her thighs quivering under his hands, and every time he glances up at her, it sends a shock up her spine. Soon she is clutching at him desperately _please please Jaime please_ before she’s falling over the edge, unable to hold back the guttural cries that fall from her lips as her body curls forward, her hand grasping his hair, his strong arms holding her upright, even though it feels her spine has gone to liquid, legs loose and tingling. 

As Brienne slowly comes back to herself, he chuckles and kisses the inside of her thigh. “Are you okay?” He’s still on his knees looking up at her, his hand caressing her ankle. 

She lets out a noise of contentment. “More than okay.” 

He laughs lightly, a self-satisfied look on his face. “Good. Be careful of your dress.” Jaime thoughtfully retrieves a towel for her, before disappearing into the bathroom again, giving them both a moment to clean up. “Come here,” he grins as he emerges, dropping to his knees again, which sends a jolt through her. 

“Jaime,” she breathes, confused. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he laughs, taking both of her hands in his. “I was going to carry you.” 

“Like a fireman’s carry?” She laughs, realizing Jaime was trying to get her to bend over his shoulder. “I’m too heavy.” 

“No, you’re not,” he insists, rising to his feet and kissing her. They take advantage of nearly every surface of his suite. In the morning, Brienne wakes to Jaime pressed against her back. As she’s trying to wriggle out of his grasp without disturbing him, his arm tightens around her. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m late,” she murmurs. “I’m supposed to meet Margaery and her bridesmaids for hair and makeup in five minutes.” 

“Then you’re not late, you have five minutes,” Jaime replies lazily. 

“I have to go back to my room and change clothes,” she says, sitting up. Brienne hates the idea of having to do a walk of shame, and she can already imagine the wedding day rumors about a bridesmaid and groomsman hooking up. They’re a walking stereotype.

“You can wear something of mine.” She’s trying to figure out how to lace up the ridiculous gold sandals she wore the night before and Jaime’s breezy nonchalance is annoying her.

“And _that_ won’t be obvious?” 

Brienne senses movement behind her and then Jaime drops a kiss on her shoulder. “I had a nice time last night.” 

She softens. “I did too.” He kisses her neck and Brienne lets herself fall into it, her hand in his hair, leaning back against him. “Now I’m really going to be late.” 

He smirks, whispering against her lips. “Worth it.” 


	9. Oct. 20 - Friends to Lovers with Dom/Sub Undertones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From date tag writing meme on tumblr, Oct. 20 - Friends to Lovers with Dom/Sub Undertones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in a perfect fictional world, I think Jaime and Brienne would hook up before she brings up...well, you’ll see. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I know very little about BDSM, so don’t take my word for anything. NSFW.

Oct. 20 - Friends to Lovers with Dom/Sub Undertones for catherineflowers29

*

Brienne storms into the apartment, crossing in front of the television, and straight back into her room. Jaime sighs and picks himself off the couch. Through her door, he can hear her crying. He knocks softly. “Bri?” The crying stops, but there’s no response. “What happened?” Jaime tries again, his voice low and steady. 

“Nothing,” she cries, but her voice is a choked mess. 

He tries the doorknob, but it’s locked. “You’re scaring me. Will you please tell me what happened?” 

The lock clicks and Brienne opens the door a crack. Her eyeliner is smudged and her eyes are red-rimmed, but it only serves to make her irises look more blue. “It’s stupid.” Her voice cracks and her eyes fill with tears again. 

“Hey,” he tries to soothe her even though she hasn’t let him into her bedroom yet. “It’s not stupid if it has you this upset.” 

Brienne nods, finally allowing him inside. The first thing he does is gather her into a long hug, hand stroking across her shoulder blades. They’re nearly the same height, so she can’t even cry into his shoulder, but her cheek is pressed against his and he can smell her shampoo, coconut and jasmine. 

When she’s finally able to talk again, he listens. “I broke up with Hyle,” Brienne breathes. 

Jaime is immediately, perhaps irrationally, angry. He’s ready to jump in the car, drive across town, and punch the good for nothing Hyle Hunt. “What did he do?” he practically spits.

She grips the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turn white. Oh gods. If he tried something when Brienne wasn’t ready or forced her to do anything, Jaime would do worse than punching him. “It’s nothing he did,” she says slowly, her voice nearly a whisper. “It’s more…” Her cheeks flush and she bites her lip. “More what he didn’t want to do.” 

He isn’t one hundred percent sure what that means, but since he apparently has no filter or tact, Jaime says, “Like a sex thing?” 

Brienne’s neck turns red and she falls back onto the mattress, dragging one of her pillows down over her face. “Yes,” she replies, her answer warped and garbled from where it’s pressed against the pillow. 

He nearly laughs at her embarrassment, but bites his tongue to stop himself. “Good for you then.” Jaime clears his throat. “I mean, you should always stand up for yourself. Especially when...it comes to...your desire.” He almost chokes over the word.

She screams into the pillow and both of them dissolve into laughter. 

*

He doesn’t press her any further about what she asked of Hyle. But it infiltrates Jaime’s dreams, imagining all the things Brienne might ask him to do, all the things she might like, might want. One night he wakes up and his cock is so hard it’s painful. 

He rubs a hand across his jaw. He’s never thought of her this way. She’s his best friend. 

When he finally palms his cock, Jaime pictures her. Those freckles sprinkled all over her delicate pale skin, wondering if she blushes everywhere too, thinking about what she sounds like, what she tastes like. His hips buck so hard he nearly lifts off the mattress. “Fuck,” he mumbles. 

*

After a few weeks, Brienne seems to be doing better. Usually when something is bothering her or she’s been hurt, she’ll stay pretty quiet for a few days. When he arrives home from work one night, she’s in the kitchen making dinner, music cranked up, shouting “Hey!” when she hears the door close behind him. 

“Hey yourself,” he grins, leaning against the counter. 

“Long day?” She turns down the music. “There’s beer in the fridge.” 

“You’re a saint.” Not just any beer, but his favorite beer, which they usually reserve as a special treat. There’s hardly any space left on the counters, packed as they are with veggies, measuring cups, spoons, and wine. “This looks elaborate.” 

“Yeah, I was just in the mood to...cook.” She flushes slightly and it gives Jaime pause, but perhaps Brienne was already imbibing before he came home. Whenever she drinks more than a glass or two of anything, her cheeks get all pink. It’s cute. _Gods Lannister, you’ve got it bad_. He leaves to change clothes and when he comes back, he notices Brienne isn’t wearing her usual apartment loungewear. 

She’s got on black jeans which in the bright light of the kitchen, really show off the curve of her calves, the thick muscles of her thighs, and the curve of her ass. Her top is some silky blue thing, perhaps what she wore to the office under one of her usual blazers. When she leans forward to chop vegetables, the shirt dips down and he can just make out the swell of her breast. Jaime takes a long swig of his beer and nearly chokes. Her bright blue eyes focus on him and gods is he really standing here half hard in sweatpants? He nods but ducks out of the kitchen again, settling on the couch. A moment later, she comes out, a glass of water in hand. “Here,” she offers, his fingers brushing against hers as he takes it from her. Brienne frowns. “Are you really okay?” 

Jaime can only nod, wondering how embarrassing it would be to stroke one out in the bathroom while his best friend is making dinner for him in the next room. He manages to calm himself down a little bit by watching a mindless action movie he’s seen a million times, but after a half an hour, he realizes he hasn’t even offered to help. “Is there an occasion I don’t know about, Tarth?” he teases. 

Jaime hasn’t called her Tarth in years, not since they were on that rec league soccer team together where he irritated her to no end. He still has no idea how she came to regard him as a friend, much less agree to share a living space with him. _And that’s as far as it will ever go. She’s way too good for you._ But she was too good for Hyle, too. Jaime wonders if he should bring it up, tell her she should have never dated that asswipe, but he doesn’t want to say anything if Brienne’s finally feeling better. 

“No occasion. Not really.” But her throat bobs when she swallows and the spaghetti straps of her tank do little to conceal her blush. She’s bending over the counter again, everything in the kitchen too low for her tall frame, and gods, Jaime wants to slip up behind her and-- “I have a favor to ask you.” He perks up at that. 

“Can you get the chicken out of the fridge?” She smiles sweetly. “But don’t toss out the liquid. I need that for the dish later.” 

“Are you sure I can’t do more to help?” But Brienne only shoos him out of the kitchen.

The apartment begins to smell amazing, his stomach growling, relieved to be hungrier for food than for his roommate. They talk about the usual things over dinner: the fate of their favorite soccer teams, Tyrion’s new business, how soon is too soon for Brienne to ask for a promotion at her new job. “You spoil me,” Jaime tells her, pushing away from the table and starting to gather plates, when she puts a hand on his wrist. 

“Wait.” Her face is flushed from the several glasses of wine she consumed over the course of the meal. “There was actually a reason I did all this.” 

He tries to ignore the fact that his heart rate picks up. “Oh?” Jaime sinks back down into his chair. 

“I wanted to ask you a favor.” She can barely look him in the eye. “I…” 

“Listen, whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s not going to change anything between us.” He doesn’t know how he sounds so calm when he really wants to tell her everything that has been going through his mind the past few weeks. 

“Do you know what BDSM is?” The moment should be hilarious, because Brienne is practically hiding her face in her napkin, but all Jaime can think is _ohmyfuck_. 

“Um, yeah, I do.” _Why do you sound so casual?_ “Wait. Is that what--” Everything clicks into place. Hyle wasn’t interested. But she thinks he might be? It’s a huge risk to take, one which makes him admire Brienne a million times more. They’ve been friends for years. He could easily say he doesn’t think about her that way. Yet she felt comfortable enough to ask him. “You want to try it?” his voice is a choked whisper. She nods, her blue eyes steady on his. _Fuck fuck fuck._ “With me?” 

Her neck colors. “I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing.” She starts to stand, but this time Jaime catches her wrist. 

“Brienne.” He isn’t sure if the desire is clear in his voice, but her whole face changes from hurt to shock to surprise before he pulls her down for a kiss. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks,” he murmurs. “How’s that for embarrassing?” 

“Actually.” She drags the word out before leaning over to kiss him again. “That’s really fucking hot.” Her voice dropping husky and low sends a jolt up his spine. “I couldn’t figure out a way to casually bring it up. I mean, I should have just asked if you thought of me that...” 

“No,” Jaime mumbles in between kisses, whimpering when she nibbles at his lower lip. “This is good. This is--I meant what I said, about standing up for yourself, and asking for what you want...what you…” 

“Desire,” she breathes, her hand skimming down the front of his shirt. 

“Gods yes,” he growls before her tongue slides into his mouth. 

When they break apart again, breaths already growing rapid and sharp, he manages to stand even though his knees wobble a little. Brienne’s eyes fall to the obvious erection in his pants. “Jaime,” she whispers, but a pleased grin crosses her face before she reaches out and strokes him through the fabric. He’s almost embarrassed by his reaction, a breath sucked in over his teeth, and muscles twitching under her touch. Her hand stills and he lets out a low whimper, ready to beg if that’s what it takes. “We should talk about the rules,” she says coolly. There is a strength in her eyes that is new to him. 

“Are you going to tie me up?” It’s a joke, but Brienne has always been a terrible liar, and there’s a subtle shift in her face that tells Jaime she would enjoy it. _Fuck fuck fuck_. He’s in way over his head. 

“It’s not all about whips and chains,” she replies defensively and Jaime can sense her shying away from him. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop making jokes,” he tells her. “I want you to talk to me. This is about what _you_ want.” 

Brienne regards him warily, innocence and skepticism returning to her face. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” Her voice is small. “It would change things between us.” 

“No,” he says, perhaps a little too forcefully, because she frowns. “It’s _not_ a bad idea. I want...fuck,” he sighs. “I want _you_. So yeah, that’s going to change things, but I hope not in a bad way.” 

The change in her demeanor is immediate and Brienne practically throws herself at him, mouth firm against his and then her hands are at his hips, dragging down his sweatpants, and oh gods oh gods, she’s down on her knees taking him in her mouth. His hands run through her hair, sweeping it back, and holding it at the crown of her head so he can see her. He’s not going to last long and when he manages to relay this to Brienne, she only takes more of him into her mouth, bobbing her head faster until he comes, his legs shaking, a groan falling from his lips as she swallows. 

“Fuckkkk.” 

She licks her lips, still on her knees, a smile on her face as she tells him, “Very good.” And he thinks he’s half hard again hearing her say that. Jaime isn’t sure where his shy, sweet best friend is, but gods, he really, really likes this woman in front of him, too. 

But he’s doubting whether he can survive the rest of the evening. “You’re going to kill me, Bri.” 

“Do you like me taking control?” she asks, tilting her chin up to look at him, even as her hands run down his thighs, his sweatpants still around his knees. 

“Um, yes,” he hisses. “Please.” 

“That means doing what I say,” her voice sharpens into a warning and a tingle runs up his spine. 

“Fuck, yes. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Brienne nods and rises to her feet, helping him pull his sweatpants up. “I don’t think I ask for anything unreasonable, but if for any reason, you feel uncomfortable, you should have a word that you can say and I’ll stop.” 

“Brienne…” he says, still shocked that they’re really doing this. 

“What’s your word, Jaime?” Her eyes burn into his, bright as the sea, as blue as the sky after a rainstorm, sparkling like-

“Sapphires,” he murmurs. 

“Good.” She doesn’t say another word, but walks to her bedroom, him following behind. Brienne sits down on the edge of the bed, stretching out her arms behind her, resting her weight on her hands. The way she regards him makes Jaime swallow and try to steady his breathing. “I want you to undress me.” He’s been so eager to follow her commands he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask things of her. 

“Can I ask you to sit up?” Jaime gives her his most charming smile. If he’s breaking the rules, perhaps it will placate her a little. She nods and does as he asks, placing her hands in her lap. Normally he might seduce her, nipping and kissing her neck as he slides the silky fabric of her shirt up her body, but Jaime’s already aching for her touch again, her mouth on his, so he simply lifts her shirt over her head, Brienne raising her arms, and he exhales a whoosh of air as he sees the color of the strapless bra she’s wearing matches her top. More evidence of the trouble she went to for all of this. “Seven hells, Brienne.” Without even realizing what he’s doing, he gets down on his knees in front of her. “I want to touch you, kiss you. Please.” 

She runs a hand through his hair. “You’re being very good, Jaime. Only a little bit longer.” 

“I want-” but he stops as Brienne arches her back, her hand skimming over her skin to undo the button on her jeans. “Gods, woman,” he moans. 

She places her hand at the crown of his head, tugging at his hair. “Undress me.” 

Jaime reaches up to pull down her zipper with shaking hands, letting out a noise at the back of his throat when he sees that her panties are the same shade of blue as her shirt and bra. “Can I stand up?” 

“Yes.” Brienne nods and Jaime is surprised when she lets him press her back against the mattress so his hands can slip her jeans over her hips. For a moment, they both stay there, him arched over her body. He cups a hand at the back of her neck and kisses her hungrily, the soft sound at the back of her throat telling him Brienne may not be as in control as she seems. His hand smoothes down her spine, undoing her bra, and tossing it across the room. He kisses her again, her heart hammering so fast he can feel it under his hand. “Now be good and finish undressing me,” she murmurs against his mouth, punctuating it by a nip at his lower lip. 

Jaime sinks back down to his knees and pulls on one leg of her jeans, dragging the fabric down those long, long limbs of hers, before tugging them off over her feet. He rests his hand on her ankle afterwards, thumb brushing across it, even as his eyes travel over her body. She’s strong and gorgeous and Seven help him, he’s been such a fool to not see it for so long. This time without even asking, he rises to his feet again, hands at her hips as he pulls the blue silky fabric of her panties down the same path as her jeans, before crouching back down to his knees and spreading her legs, practically licking his lips when he sees how wet she is for him. But Brienne’s hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Since you’re so obedient, take off your clothes.” She doesn’t have to tell him twice, he nearly trips over himself, standing naked before her in a flash. “Gods,” her husky voice purrs. “You’re gorgeous.” For some reason, standing in front of her, exposed as her eyes rake over him, makes Jaime feel shy and yet incredibly aroused. “But I like you better on your knees.” His cock is as hard as when he woke up from his dream, harder maybe, and he moves stiffly to the floor. “What do you want to do, Jaime?” 

“I want to taste you.” His voice sounds unsteady, unlike himself, and gods, he can already taste the tang of her on his tongue.

“If you want it, then do it.” Brienne arches an eyebrow at him, a challenge in her voice.

He nearly says yes ma’am, but instead a strange combination of a groan and yelp come out of his mouth as Jaime scoots forward to kiss her thighs and softly sink his teeth into her flesh. Brienne lets out a cry as he drags his tongue over the length of her, nuzzling her swollen skin with his nose. He lifts her legs to rest on his shoulders and she makes an approving noise in her throat. When he finds her clit, her hand threads through his hair with a moan, and yes, this is exactly what he wanted, the firm but gentle pressure of her hand on the back of his head as he worships her with his mouth. 

“That feels so good,” she gasps. “Keep going.” He hums against her and she writhes against him, Jaime pressing a firm hand to her hip to still her. “Fuck,” she moans, hand twisting in his hair, but he does not quicken his pace. Jaime is happy to obey her orders as long as she allows him to see her like this, coming undone underneath him. Her thighs tighten around him and he wishes he could speak, to encourage her, but he doesn’t want to stop. Jaime lightens the pressure from his tongue as she comes, her legs quaking, crying out his name. A momentary stillness grips her body, her fingers running through his hair, but he only continues tasting her, sucking at her clit as her thighs clamp around his head again and she screams. 

When he emerges from between her legs, Jaime can’t help but wear a smug smile. Brienne laughs, and he grabs his t-shirt, quickly wiping his face before dropping down onto the bed beside her. She kisses him, Jaime making a noise of approval in the back of his throat. Brienne runs her hand through his hair, a gesture that makes him feel content and safe. He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation. “You did perfectly,” she tells him. 

“Only perfectly?” he asks, cocking one eye open. 

“Fine,” she admits. “Amazingly well.” He leans forward and kisses her then. Even after he pulls back, his thumb lingers at her neck, tracing the long lines of her throat. “You’re a little bratty.” 

“Is that what they call it?” 

“Mmmhmm. But I like it, I don’t want to be in charge all the time.” The idea of him getting to command her as she had him makes Jaime excited in a whole new way. 

“Good,” he murmurs in her ear, making her shiver. “Because right now, I want to fuck you.” 

“Yes, please.”


	10. Sep 19 - Childhood Friends with Sharing a Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For date tag writing meme on tumblr, Sep. 19 - Childhood Friends with Sharing a Bed

**Sep. 19 - Childhood Friends with Sharing a Bed **for @bussdowntarthiana

*ds

Jaime pauses as the floor creaks under his feet. Faint moonlight illuminates her room. There’s the soft whisper of sheets as she stirs. “Brienne?” he whispers from the doorway. 

She lifts the covers behind her, an offering. Jaime rounds the bed, slipping in between the cool, cotton sheets. The whole weekend, he’s felt comforted, being in her presence again. Content. But lying beside her now, the heat radiating off her body, her soft breathing, the familiar scent, is a new layer, one which forces him to wrestle with some thoughts he’d rather not face. 

It isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. When Brienne’s family still lived in King’s Landing, they were inseparable. She was always over at his house or he at hers, having sword fights, going on imaginary quests, falling asleep together under the stars. They both loved the old legends of knights, ladies, and dragons. 

Shortly after Brienne turned 11, her father lost his job, and her parents decided to move the family back to Tarth. The two of them had been furious about the forced separation, but stayed in touch, writing letters, then emails, and now, texts. Over the years, Jaime visited Tarth during the summers and less often, Brienne visited the Lannisters in King’s Landing. 

To his surprise, she reaches back for his hand, wrapping his arm around her waist, her hand on top of his. Jaime’s heart flutters and he nestles closer. “Are you scared?” 

Next week, Brienne will travel to Dorne for the Westerosi Army training camp before she’s shipped overseas. “A little,” she admits. “But I can call Galladon if I have any major problems.” She enlisted because it’s the only way she could afford university, but her older brother is in his fourth year of service, a lieutenant. 

“And then in two years you’ll be with me.” He is starting at the prestigious Westerlands University in a month and hopes his gentle persuasion will lead Brienne there as well. 

She chuckles, but her tone is uncertain. “We’ll see.” 

Jaime can’t find the words to say he’s been a little in love with her his whole life, and the thought of her off fighting in the deserts of Essos while he sits in an ivy-covered classroom makes his stomach twist. 

When he wakes in the morning, sunlight streaming into the round turret of her room, his arm is still wrapped around her waist, and Jaime’s heart clenches. Her shoulders rise and fall with each breath and he presses a nose into her shoulder, murmuring _Iloveyou_. 


	11. January 28 - Angst with Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For date tag writing meme, Jan 28 - Angst with Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of my weird, obsessive interests is war correspondents. There really was a “reporter hotel” outside Baghdad during the various wars in Iraq, which is oft cited as being a place that is falling apart and may suffer from rubble from bombings and blackouts, but offered an array of black market booze for the reporters. I really admire war and conflict correspondents, so I hope I don’t make light of the harrowing situations they put themselves through in order to do their jobs well. Also, this was oddly inspired by a convo with @theunpaidcritic about reporter!AUs for JB.
> 
> Slightly NSFW.

January 28 - Angst with Confessions for wildlingoftarth

***

“Fuck, Hyle, how many times do I have to tell you? Your job is to send our editor the photos we choose together. Not your favorites.” 

Jaime looks across the crowded hotel ballroom, where Brienne’s usually calm voice is raised above the normal level of ruckus of the room. At any given time, the Orange Coast Hotel, is a temporary home to numerous reporters and photographers from across the known world who cover the war raging in the Disputed Lands and beyond. 

The nearby conflict has not left the hotel unharmed, and at any given time, there are bombings and blackouts. Correspondents hunker down in the ballroom, swearing over stories or taking calls on their various phones, both the slim mobiles if there’s service available, and the chunky satellite phones when in an emergency, which for them means a deadline. 

Brienne sorts out whatever issue she’s having with her colleague after more raised voices and wild hand gestures, before she huffs across the room and sits down next to him. “I don’t know why you put up with him,” he says calmly. 

“He has a lot of conflict experience,” she sighs, her voice a near grumble. 

“But you don’t get along. In this line of work, you need someone who has your back, and not just with your editor.” 

Brienne narrows her eyes at him and takes a swig from Jaime’s half finished glass of whiskey. “It’s only a six week assignment. I’ll make do.” 

The first time he met Brienne, he called her too innocent to be a war correspondent. She’d been green, he hadn’t been wrong about that, but she found her footing quickly. Brienne scarcely backed down--not from her editors or a story--and over the years, their admiration for each other had only grown. Reporting on conflict and trauma made you bond quickly, and sometimes in unhealthy ways, with your colleagues. “You could come work with me,” he offers easily. 

“I already want to kill Hyle,” she grouses, running a hand through her hair. “You think that wouldn’t apply to you?” 

Jaime chuckles. “Probably doubly so.” 

She allows a small smile at that. “Where’s Dacey?” 

“Off on a world tour,” he shrugs, but catches Brienne’s worried gaze. “She’s having a tough time, after what happened in Qohor. So she’s taking a break. A long one.” 

“So you’re out here by yourself?” He sent in his photos an hour ago, but prefers to stay in the midst of the fray rather than return to the quiet of his room. He nods. “That isn’t safe, Jaime.” Her hand falls to his knee and he tries not to think of all the times they’d turned to each other for comfort. _This godsforsaken place_. 

“It’s alright,” he replies, a little too cavalierly. Brienne’s blue eyes slice through him, practiced and observant. 

*

It’s practically a rite of passage at the Orange Coast Hotel: reporters and photographers drinking heavily and then winding up in each other’s rooms. Some of those nights have destroyed long distance relationships, a few marriages, but never, as far as she knows, anyone’s career. War reporters are far too proficient at being damaged. They might fuck a colleague, but their moral obligation is to tell the story, to let people know of the world’s horrors and injustices, to challenge them not to look away. 

So when Jaime shows up at Brienne’s room after midnight, she’s hardly surprised. He steps into her arms without so much as a hello and then her hands are undoing his belt, and fuck, she’s forgotten how fun it is. It feels wrong to say she missed this, but it rises up on her tongue all the same, Jaime kissing her in reply. He fucks her, Brienne bent over, her hands against the wall. When she drags him to bed, they slow things down, the closest to loving she’s ever had. 

Afterwards, he falls asleep, his soft snores keeping her company as she lies awake, wondering what it would be like to work together. Jaime is the best in his field, and has been since before she graduated. Brienne never told him that when she was still in university, he came to give a lecture on war photography. All the other girls were swooning over his brooding nature, his devil may care smile, but she thought he was full of himself, and he proved her right the first time they met in a conflict zone. _Never meet your idols_, she remembers thinking, and now, she sleeps beside him, trying to puzzle together when she may have fallen in love with him. 

In the morning, she’s surprised to find him there with coffee, orange juice, and toast brought up from the bar downstairs. His camera bag is by the door. “You don’t even carry a suitcase now?” she teases, starting to reach over him for a piece of toast, but he snags her wrist and to her surprise, pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her. “Jaime, is everything okay?” They’ve never done this. The morning after. At most, they would give each other a nod or wave in the hotel lobby, one or both of them with bags under their eyes. 

“I have to go to the Painted Mountains for a couple weeks,” he tells her, voice gravelly and still thick from sleep. “But when I get back we should talk about this.” 

Brienne blinks, thinking she’s dreaming it. “About what?” 

“You and I,” he chuckles, his green eyes twinkling. 

“Working together?” she asks, confused. 

“Brienne.” He says, exasperated, but he’s laughing, and then leaning in for another kiss, longer this time. _Oh._ Her hand tentatively traces his cheek, skin weathered from the time spent outdoors in the desert sun, her fingertips burning over his scruff. 

When they pull apart, Brienne nearly laughs, she’s scarcely felt this happy. “Why now?” They’ve been doing this for years. 

“Why not now?” he replies, not giving much away, but understanding slowly dawns on his face. She wants a real answer. “Because I miss you when you’re gone.” 

A warmth pulses through her, realizing the kernel of truth in what she said last night. Brienne doesn’t just miss the sex, their connection. She misses him, she misses _them_, when they’re apart, each off on assignment. “I miss you, too.” He wraps his arms around her then, Brienne resting her chin on the top of his head. “You’re coming back here in two weeks?” Jaime nods. 

*

She and Hyle return to the hotel after a long day. Covered in dust and mud and possibly blood, all she wants is to take a shower, but Brienne stops in the middle of the lobby when she sees Catelyn Tully at the hotel front desk, looking frazzled. Her heart rate picks up. Why would Jaime’s editor be here if he’s not due back for another week? It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other, but Brienne steps over to where the older woman is standing. “Catelyn, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Brienne, thank gods. I’m trying to find someone to take me to Slaver’s Bay. Jaime is in the hospital there.” Everything happens in slow motion after that. Catelyn must lead her over to one of the lobby’s couches, because that’s where she finally returns to herself, a stiff drink in her hand. “You didn’t hear?” She shakes her head. “There was an ambush in Khyzai Pass. He was with the company under attack.” 

“Khyzai Pass?” It was incredibly dangerous, much more so than the Painted Forest. 

“I didn’t know either,” the older woman says, her tone somber. “I wouldn’t have let him go.” 

Jaime’s sudden need for clarification about their relationship takes on a new meaning and Brienne curses herself for being so stupid. “I should have realized.” The whole area is in such tumult that for years, Slaver’s Bay has been cut off from most means of transportation. The only way they might be able to reach Jaime is by boat, but traversing the straits of Valyria would take days. “Did you talk to the hospital?” 

Catelyn nods, her face pale. “They said he was stable, but he’d lost a lot of blood. He...his hand got hurt. There may be nerve damage.” 

She nods, her throat thick with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes. If he couldn’t take photos, Jaime wouldn’t want to live. An urgency rises up in her chest. “We have to get to him.” 

A shadow falls across the two of them, and Brienne looks up to find Sandor Clegane looming. “I can take you there.” 

They spend the next two days in an armored Jeep, barely stopping, but Clegane is true to his word, they breeze through checkpoints, and Brienne can barely thank him before she’s racing through the hospital corridors, a name echoing in each heartbeat. _Jaime Jaime Jaime_. 


End file.
